


he's a regular disney princess

by gendernoncompliant



Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Case Fic, Dwight is a bear but he's also a Bear, Feel-good, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Season/Series 05, Silly, listen i'm playin real fast and loose with canon here, the fun filler episode we all deserved, this is so deeply self-indulgent, tone? never met her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26474926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gendernoncompliant/pseuds/gendernoncompliant
Summary: The bear lets out a low, confused bellow and drops onto all fours. The motion puts its face horrifically close to Duke's, the puff of breath from its nose enough to blow the hair out of his face. Duke throws his arms in front of him, squeezes his eyes closed, and wishes he’d kept a better track of religion so he’d have a god to pray to.(Duke never signed up to be some bargain bin Snow White. But apparently, he doesn’t get a say in the matter.)
Relationships: Duke Crocker/Dwight Hendrickson
Comments: 18
Kudos: 23





	he's a regular disney princess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sahraylia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahraylia/gifts).



> This thing really got away from me lmfao.
> 
> This fic takes place right at the start of season 5B. Duke's let loose his troubles and they've figured out he's immune, but I've taken some liberties with the timeline and he doesn't rush out of town quite so quickly in this one. Frankly, canon means nothing to me. It's my bullshit fairytale trouble and I make the rules.

Duke tried to help and look where that got him.

Troubles go off all over town—a completely new batch dug up from hundreds of years’ worth of Crockers playing god. He thought maybe the journal would give him an edge, help him start to undo a little of his family’s damage.

Who was he kidding?

Fear sets off troubles, and fear’s the only thing a Crocker’s ever been good for. Fear and death and absent fathers—that’s his legacy. He can’t help Alex. He can’t help Dwight, or Audrey, or Nathan, or this town. He can’t even help himself.

He’s leaving.

After the confrontation with Alex and the surreal unreality of everyone frozen in place around him, Duke takes off on foot. Better that than waiting around for Nathan to give him a ride back to the station. He hardly even knows where he’s going, at first. Dread and shame get tangled up into white noise that takes up too much of his head. Without all those troubles brewing in his body, he finds himself shockingly _empty_. Less unburdened, more hollow.

Right around the time he gets to the center of town, a familiar truck pulls up beside him. Duke doesn’t stop. He needs to get to his boat. He needs to pack. He needs to _go_.

“Duke,” Dwight calls out his window.

Duke squares his shoulders and picks up his pace. “Not right now, Sasquatch,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Hey.” The sound of a car door banging shut. Duke’s practically jogging at this point, but Dwight and his stupid long legs keep pace just fine.

“You’re supposed to be with Nathan,” Dwight says, “What the hell happened?”

Just as Dwight’s fingers start to close above Duke’s elbow, Duke spins around—an entirely mirthless grin on his face. “Trust me,” he snaps, “you don’t want me on this one, Chief.”

Dwight sizes him up. Duke wonders what he sees. He wonders which part of Dwight he’s caught the attention of: the soldier or the friend. The soldier undoubtedly would spot him for the liability he is. Call him volatile. An unknown quantity. He wouldn’t be wrong.

Recognition dawns on Dwight’s face.

“You’re leaving,” Dwight says—not a question. For a moment, Duke hates his intuition, his empathy, hates the fact that he let Dwight close enough to see through him like this.

He paints on a smile that wouldn’t fool anybody.

“Everything I do in this town hurts people,” he grits out. He turns back in the direction he was headed and starts down the road. “Don’t worry,” he promises in parting, “You won’t miss me.”

“Goddamn it, Duke,” Dwight curses. Duke can hear his boots against the pavement as he follows behind him. (He never gives up, does he?) “You’re a part of this—” He starts.

Duke comes to a sudden stop, whirling around. “No,” he barks, shoving Dwight’s shoulder like he’s looking for a fight, “I’m at the fucking _center_ of this. I _did_ this. And I’m taking myself out of the equation.”

Duke never gets to hear Dwight’s answer to that.

The second he opens his mouth, a man comes careening down the sidewalk, crashing into the both of them in his hurry. He slams first into Duke’s back—knocking him forward so hard he nearly loses his footing—then bounces off of him to shoulder-check Dwight on his way past. It hardly so much as slows him down.

“Dude, watch it!” Duke calls after him, but he rounds a corner before Duke can get much of a bead on him beyond his dark, curly head of hair. He takes a few pointless steps after him, but any attempt at giving chase goes out the window when Duke hears a strange, sickening crunch behind him.

“Duke,” Dwight wheezes, his voice odd and strangled. Duke turns over his shoulder as a shadow spreads huge and broad until it blots out his view of the sun.

“ _Jesus fucking Christ_ ,” Duke squeaks, scrabbling backwards and losing his footing and landing on his ass.

It’s a bear.

It’s a literal, actual, _only you can prevent forest fires_ goddamn motherfucking bear.

Duke’s going to die here, isn’t he?

What was it you were supposed to do during a bear attack? Play dead? Run downhill? He can’t remember. And anyway, he’s pretty sure _on your back underneath it_ means you’re well and truly fucked, regardless.

The bear lets out a low, confused bellow and drops onto all fours. The motion puts its face horrifically close to Duke’s, the puff of breath from its nose enough to blow the hair out of his face. Duke throws his arms in front of him, squeezes his eyes closed, and wishes he’d kept a better track of religion so he’d have a god to pray to.

Nothing happens.

Duke peeks and sees the bear staring back at him with wide, brown eyes. It lets out a sound like a whine and knocks its forehead—its _huge_ forehead—against his knee.

“Dwight?” Duke stammers as he slowly lowers his arms. The bear puffs a blast of hot air at his face. “Are you still—uh, y’know—” Duke’s voice pitches embarrassingly high. “—you?”

Dwight—and it is Dwight, inside if not out—nods, except in this body, it’s less of a nod and more of an uncoordinated bobbing of his head. (His huge, very toothy and only a lot terrifying head.)

Duke’s pretty sure that the only ones meant to see bears this up-close are circus performers and salmon. He hopes he counts as the former rather than the latter.

With his life out of imminent danger and back into the sort of constant, background-noise danger as usual, Duke becomes very suddenly aware of the absolute chaos around him. People are screaming, running, panicking.

In their defense, there’s an eight-foot-tall grizzly bear in the middle of Main Street.

He stumbles to his feet.

“Oh, I hate how big you are,” Duke mutters mostly to himself. He glances at the panicked citizens around them and gestures Dwight follow him. “Come on, Squatch. Let’s get you somewhere quiet.”

Dwight follows in lockstep behind him the whole way to the Gull. It goes against absolutely every survival instinct Duke has to turn his back on a _goddamn grizzly bear_ , but he tries to convince the goosebumps running up his arms that—teeth or not—the thing lumbering along behind him is just a souped up Dwight Hendrickson.

Sasquatch suddenly isn’t the most fitting of nicknames anymore. He’s more Yogi than Yeti. Duke grins at his own joke.

Moments later, he’s nearly knocked off his feet when a snuffly bear snout vies for his attention by nosing at the back of his knees until he winds up damn near dead-legged.

“ _DWIGHT_ ,” he yelps, losing his balance and falling backwards into the mass of _bear_ behind him. He isn’t entirely sure if Dwight helps push him back upright or if it’s just a coincidence of his forward momentum. Either way, once he’s on his feet again, he scurries to one side and whirls on him.

“What!?” He asks. “What is it?”

Dwight bellows a low, undulating sound and points his nose in the direction of a lone grackle standing in the center of the road.

Maybe he’s not as much himself as Duke thought he was.

“A bird,” Duke says flatly. “You knocked me over. For a bird.”

Dwight rumbles again, jerking his head pointedly at the grackle. It lets out a hoarse little squaw and hops a few steps their direction. Duke rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, we’re not doing this. Come on.”

After only minor resistance, Dwight huffs an unnecessarily loud sigh and follows along behind him.

* * *

Duke’s grateful for the small loading dock in the back of the Gull, with its concrete ramp and rolling service door. They rarely take shipments large enough to even warrant having the thing, but it’s _remarkably_ useful for smuggling grizzly bears into the building.

This is, certainly, a massive health code violation. But that’s going to have to be a problem for later. Right now, they need room to regroup.

Duke drops heavily into a chair and stares at the bear sitting in the center of his restaurant.

“I wish this was weirder,” he sighs flatly. Looking Dwight up and down, he’s already gotten used to his newly furry footed status.

“Just another day in Haven,” he drones.

Given the way Dwight shakes out his coat and rumbles a low little growl at him, Duke has to assume he disagrees.

“Okay well, good news, I think it’s pretty safe to say that the guy who bumped into you is the one with the animal trouble. Bad news, all I saw was the back of his head. So. That’s not great.” Stretching in his seat, Duke adds, “Bad news, part two—you should probably stay here, big guy. You’re scaring people.”

Dwight makes a noise that Duke can only describe as a soft roar and tosses his head from side to side.

Huffing a sigh, Duke crosses his arms. “I take it that’s a ‘no’?”

Dwight sits down resolutely, as though trying to make a point, but for a second he looks so much like some kind of oversized dog that Duke nearly laughs out loud.

This would be funnier if it weren’t such a pain in his ass.

(And frankly, it’s still pretty funny.)

Duke props his head in his hand and sighs. “Squatch, I _really_ don’t wanna find out if four-footed you is still a bullet magnet.”

Dwight makes a low grumble of a sound. Duke can’t begin to actually translate it, but he’s got a feeling the sentiment starts with “tough” and ends with “shit”.

“You know, believe it or not, I _am_ trying to not _actively_ terrorize the town,” he says. Dwight regards him with a passive and inscrutable calm. “Don’t suppose you’d let me, like, put you on a leash or something?”

With a frankly unsettling swiftness, Dwight shoves one of his huge bear paws underneath the seat of Duke’s chair and rocks it back onto two legs. It’s only dumb luck and a lot of frantically windmilling his arms that keeps Duke from going over completely.

“Hey!” Duke barks as he slams back down on all four feet. He’s trying his damnedest to keep a lid on his frustration considering the fact that—Sasquatch or no—he isn’t interested in stumbling his way into a bear’s bad graces. Far from looking angry, however, Dwight wears an expression that—and maybe he’s just projecting here—seems infuriatingly smug.

Duke gets to his feet and straightens his shirt. “Well, I’m glad you’re having fun,” he grouses.

Much as it pains him to admit—and oh boy, does it—they aren’t going to make any headway on this trouble from behind the bar at the Gull.

He shakes his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we should probably go to the station.”

Dwight huffs air through his nose and bobs his head in what Duke assumes is a nod. It’s only as he starts to shoulder past the bar and back towards the service entrance that Duke realizes the first problem with this plan.

“Oh, goddamn it,” he grumbles. “You won’t fit in my car.”

* * *

When Duke ventures back into the streets with Dwight, he braces himself for the screams and the chaos only to find the roads curiously empty.

Actually, not empty at all. Entirely too full of entirely the wrong species. There are animals _everywhere_ , most of them distinctly not native to Maine and all of them acting bizarrely focused. He watches a racoon stand on it’s tiptoes and tug uselessly at the locked door of a Ford Fiesta. Across the street, a crow pecks the doorknob to Joe’s Bakery. Occasionally, he’ll spot a familiar, human face pressed horrified against a glass window—so, at least he knows it’s not the _whole_ town—but it seems that everyone has either answered the call of the wild or is currently in hiding from it.

Ahead of him, a stag rounds a corner, surveys the road in a distinctly un-deerlike way, and absolutely homes in on Duke the moment it spots him.

Even knowing it’s (probably) a person, Duke backs up into Dwight’s furry chest with a squeak when the stag comes _charging_ at him. It stops just short of impaling him on its antlers and canters to an awkward stop.

Oh. Okay.

Jesus Christ.

“Well, I’d know those gangly legs anywhere,” Duke drawls, more exhausted than anything. He hates that he knows it’s Nathan. But the stag looks at him with what he’d swear is a stupid little frown creased between its eyes and then it tips forward and—not exactly gently but not exactly hard either— _headbutts_ him, and there’s just no way it isn’t Nathan fucking Wuornos in there.

“Hey!” Duke barks, gently shoving Nathan’s head away from him. “Watch the antlers there, buddy.”

Nathan puffs a snort and stamps his hooves but doesn’t try to headbutt him again.

“Yes, I get it,” Duke grouses, “You’re a deer and that sucks for you but I am doing my best right now so either you can help or you can,” he gestures vaguely toward the tree line, “go find Thumper and enjoy your new life as a vegetarian.”

Nathan seems to consider it—or seems to consider leaving Duke. He probably doesn’t consider embracing the quadruped life of frolicking through the woods. Finally, with a little bray of displeasure, Nathan settles into place alongside him.

“Yeah,” Duke mumbles, “That’s what I thought.”

He can’t _prove_ that Nathan steps on his toes on purpose, but it sure feels that way.

* * *

Dwight, it turns out, no longer fits through the door of the station. Or rather, he fits through the initial double doors, but can’t make it past the hallway and into the bullpen (a turn of phrase Duke dearly hopes hasn’t become suddenly much more literal). Dwight huffs an irritated snort and prowls the hall, shoving his nose into the mail cubbies lining the wall and generally making a mess.

Hey, he’s the chief of police. Technically, it’s his own problem if he wrecks the place.

Nathan’s long strides put him ahead of Duke. When he gets to the door, he tips back on his hind legs to hit the push-bar with a loud bang. The door swings open three or four inches and then slams back.

Nathan rears up as if to do it again when Duke throws an arm in front of him and grouses, “Hey, hey, hey. Easy, Bambi. I got it.”

Dropping back down to four hooves, Nathan gives an indignant little chortle but steps out of the way. When Duke holds the door open for him, he nearly gets an antler to the eye.

“Nathan!” He barks, ducking backwards and out of the way. “ _Watch_ those things.”

Nathan flicks his tail at him, and Duke gets the distinct impression it’s deer Nathan’s version of a middle finger.

“I’m doing _you_ a favor, here,” he complains, not that Nathan’s paying him any mind now that he has the run of the place.

The bullpen is an absolute disaster. Papers everywhere, chairs overturned, fur and feathers and something Duke really hopes isn’t bird shit on the floor. By his count, he spots a pigeon, a snake, a housecat, a red-tailed squirrel, and a sheep.

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Duke exclaims, throwing his hands into the air. He looks around at the ragtag collection of animals roaming the desks. “You’re telling me _none_ of you turned into pigs?”

An indignant whinny rings out from one of the offices in the split second before a _goddamn horse_ rounds the corner.

Horses outdoors have a refined, respectable sort of majesty to them. Turns out, horses _indoors_ set off his goddamn fight or flight. It’s a beautiful chocolate color and it has lovely eyes, but its teeth are _way too big_ and also _apparently it’s a cop_. He stumbles backwards a few steps, nearly tipping ass over teakettle on a sideways office chair.

The horse looks at him with recognition and trots over.

Hands balled into fists at his sides, he tries not to flinch when it sniffs the front of his shirt. He handled a bear he can handle a horse. He can. He can handle a horse.

“Uuh, Rebecca?” Duke squeaks.

The horse nickers and tosses its head back and forth with a billowing wave of mane.

Not Rafferty. Okay. Fuck, who else’s name can he remember?

“Stan?” He asks.

The horse neighs and clops its hoof several times in excitement. Duke lets out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “Okay. Okay. Stan. Great. Hi, Stan. You look—uh. You look great. Have you, uh—you seen Audrey lately?”

Before Stan has a chance to react, the door to Nathan and Audrey’s office starts to rattle on its hinges. Duke whirls around to look. While his back is turned, Stan plants his nose in the center of Duke’s shoulder blades and nudges him forward (much to his own chagrin).

A fresh discomfort crawls up his arms. “Why do I feel like the extra in the horror movie that’s about to get eaten?” He asks no one in particular. Stan makes a sound that’s probably meant to be encouraging.

Nearing the door, he calls, “Audrey?” in a voice that comes out sounding embarrassingly high.

The rattling stops.

“Audrey, that you?” He tries again. Cautiously, he reaches for the doorknob. “It’s Duke. I’m gonna open the door.”

Something _honks_.

“Oh my god, please tell me you aren’t a goose,” Duke groans.

Back in middle school, a young and bored version of himself made the fool decision of disturbing a gaggle of Canada geese in the midst of their migration. It was not a mistake he ever repeated.

Opening the door with a wince, he finds himself staring down at a very large, very irritated looking swan.

“Oh, this is worse,” he says brightly. The swan gives an indignant trumpet and ruffles its feathers. He squints at it. “You _are_ Audrey, right?”

She honks again and he tries not to flinch when she reaches up to tug on the hem of his shirt. “Okay, okay, I get it! Nice to see you, too! _Jesus_.” He steps out of the way and watches her waddle into the bullpen.

Nathan rushes to her so fast, his hooves nearly skid out from underneath him on the wooden floor. He rights himself in a jumble of limbs and shoots Duke a pointed glare when he laughs.

Audrey and Nathan share some kind of quiet, inscrutable conversation. Privately, he wonders if deer and waterfowl have always been able to chat with each other or if this is a trouble-specific side effect. While he waits, he peeks around the corner to see the war zone that swan Audrey made of the office. It isn’t pretty.

“Alright, well as fascinating as this is,” Duke says, pushing away from the doorframe to join them in the center of the room. “We’ve got a trouble to solve and I don’t think our guy is conveniently hiding out in the police station.”

He leads them back into the hallway, holding open the door for them both and nearly getting an antler in the armpit for his trouble.

“You gotta quit doing this, my guy!” He gripes. Nathan flicks his tail without turning around to look at him.

Rolling his eyes, Duke grumbles, “Yeah, you’re welcome.” When he does, Audrey twists her long neck to look at him and gives a little nod that he thinks might be a thank you. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t buoy him up just a little bit.

Duke considers leaving the door to the bullpen open so that the rest of the officers have a way out, but decides it’s probably better if they can’t wander off. At least then they’ll know where to find them, later.

When she sees Dwight for the first time, Audrey lets out a bright trumpet that sounds a lot like a laugh. Dwight looks less than amused but lumbers up to her and Nathan. The three of them hold council (or whatever it is he should be calling this bizarre, multi-species discussion that he isn’t privy to).

Crossing his arms, Duke puffs out a sigh. “None of you could have been something _useful_ like a bloodhound, huh?” The comment earns him a shoulder-check from Dwight that sends him stumbling.

“Okay, okay! Sorry, geez!” He yelps, throwing up his hands in surrender. Nathan makes a little sound through his nose and Duke is _positive_ it’s meant to be laughter.

Duke casts him a glare. “Yeah, yuck it up, big guy. At least I still have thumbs.”

* * *

With no real leads to work off of and no particularly useable input from the newly transmogrified badges he’s thrown in his lot with, Duke makes the executive decision to return to the road and try just following the trail of animals.

It isn’t a _good_ plan. But no one else is exactly offering up any helpful theories.

They’re hardly out the front door of the station when something small and spikey waddles up to him with purpose. It marches straight to his boot before catching the laces in its teeth and yanking on them.

“Hey! Okay! You’ve got my attention! Easy on the boots.” He drops into a crouch to get a closer look at the thing only to realize it’s a porcupine. Stifling his kneejerk reaction, he instead mutters, “Okay, so I’m guessing I know you.” He squints at it in an attempt to pinpoint some recognizable mannerism.

The porcupine lets out a disgruntled little _squeal_ and Duke abruptly realizes he had no idea what sounds they made until right this instant.

“ _Geez_. Okay, okay. Uh, Nora? Alice? Jack?” He asks.

The porcupine puffs up, flexing out its quills in a way he really doesn’t like.

“Take it that’s a no.” He clicks his teeth. “Alright, uh, a brothers Teague?”

The thing makes a terrible, squeaky little yell and Duke has to resist the urge to shuffle backwards away from it. He really has been getting way too up close and personal with wildlife today, trouble or no.

It glares up at him, its tiny mouth set in a strangely familiar, tight frown.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Duke laughs, recognition finally dawning. “If it isn’t Gloria Verrano.”

The porcupine puffs a pleased sounding snort and bobs its head in a single, resounding yes. Taking a step back, Duke gestures to the rest of the group.

“Well, welcome to the team.”

She shuffles up to Audrey who promptly settles into a sitting position and fluffs out her feathers. There might even be something beautiful and graceful to the motion—like a woman in a ballgown billowing her skirt—if Duke weren’t already predisposed to a bone-deep distrust of waterfowl.

Looking at the lot of them, Duke lets out a put-upon sigh. He never signed up to be some bargain bin Snow White. But apparently, he doesn’t get a say in the matter.

While Gloria squeaks at Nathan and Audrey, Duke leans up against Dwight’s furry shoulder and stares out at the street. The road doesn’t exactly run amok with animals, but half the ones he can see are most certainly not native. And he doesn’t think there’s any number of _hippopotamus_ small enough to walk down Main Street without giving him a minor heart attack (even if the Havenite-turned-ungulate appears to be minding its own business in the most Haven way possible).

“This sure is a fucking mess, huh Squatch?” Duke sighs. He scratches absently behind Dwight’s ear without even realizing he’s doing it. When he does notice, he retreats a couple feet away and tries to laugh his way through the flood of embarrassment that spikes through him. “My bad,” he blurts, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Dwight regards him with an entirely deadpan calm. He flicks the ear Duke was scratching.

Duke’s saved from having to riddle out what that means by a sudden squall of noise from behind him: an indignant little squeal from Gloria, a startled honk from Audrey, and the flustered click of Nathan’s hooves against the pavement.

When he turns around, he finds Nathan with a face full of porcupine quills.

He looks hysterically placid about the whole thing. He snorts and goes cross-eyed trying to look at them but seems more irritated than alarmed. He whips his head around to send Gloria some kind of insulted glare. She looks entirely without remorse. Ruffling her quills at him, she pointedly grooms her own (uninjured) snout.

“Well, at least we know you still can’t feel pain,” Duke remarks. He motions Nathan towards him. “Come here, dumbass.”

Nathan resists, puffing out his chest and trotting in place for a moment. Audrey pecks his haunch and he stutters forward a few steps with a whine.

“See? She agrees with me,” Duke says, nodding to Audrey. “I’m not leaving these in your face, come here.”

This time, Nathan wanders reluctantly up to him and presents his nose for de-quilling. However, he makes a very pointed effort not to make eye contact.

Duke holds him steady with one hand on the back of his neck (and ignores the shockingly soft, almost velvet quality of Nathan’s fur, seeing as it’s neither helpful nor relevant to the task at hand). He makes quick work of the quills; a task made much simpler by Nathan’s utter lack of reaction to the barbs being yanked back out.

Duke isn’t willing to risk cleaning up the specks of blood left behind, given how off the wall his trouble has gotten in the last few weeks, but he pulls back to look at his handiwork and decides that Nathan’s muzzle is a little pink but no worse for wear.

Everything seems to be perfectly fine right up until the moment Nathan rears back and headbutts him before fleeing a few feet away. Dazed and reeling, Duke thanks whatever gods that might be listening that it was just the blunt top of Nathan’s skull that connected with his chin and not _the antlers_.

Still dizzied from the impact, Duke nearly pitches backward but finds Dwight already behind him, propping him up. He steadies himself with a hand in Dwight’s fur, the other gone to rub his aching jaw when he barks, “What the fuck, Nathan?”

Nathan lingers anxiously on the edge of the road. He can’t seem to hold still, pacing back and forth and glancing frantically between Duke and his line of escape. When his eyes meet Duke’s, they look empty—as though Nathan isn’t in there anymore.

Duke glances around at the others, but they seem normal—well, as normal as it gets today—and just as confused as he does. He watches Audrey take a few tentative steps Nathan’s direction. Dwight lets out a low noise that seems too gentle to be meant as a growl.

“Nate?” Duke asks. His two steps forward are met with several scrambling steps back. However, in the moment before Nathan looks ready to bolt, something changes. He shakes his head as if to clear it. His eyes dilate back to something recognizable and focused. After another moment’s hesitation, he returns to the group.

Audrey flutters her wings as she looks him over. Whatever conversation the two of them seem to be having, Duke can’t understand it. He is, however, sure that Nathan must be Nathan-y again and not… whatever the hell that was.

“Cool,” he says—half to himself and half to the rest of them, “So apparently this can and will get worse.”

Duke oh so carefully gets his hands underneath Gloria and lifts her onto Dwight’s back. “Gloria, you saw the guy last so you’re the best lead we got. Can you tell Sasquatch here where you saw him?”

Neither Dwight nor Gloria looks especially thrilled by this turn of events, but they do share a quick and incomprehensible conversation before Dwight heads in the direction of 6th Street.

* * *

Duke expected this to be the difficult part, but there really is no mistaking their guy when they finally stumble across him. He stands on top of one of those outside dining tables at local café, wielding a chair like some knockoff lion tamer. He’s surrounded on all sides by half a dozen different animals, each one of them looking furious and brainless—bearing their teeth in a way that doesn’t strike Duke as even remotely human.

Dwight lumbers forward and roars. The sound instills a bone-deep chill in Duke that soaks through him like ice water. Apparently, he isn’t the only one. Every animal in the vicinity heads for cover. The man on the table doesn’t seem to realize the bear is on his side and curls into a ball around his knees, babbling terrified pleas that all blur together.

“Lucky for you, he’s friendly,” Duke tells him. He lays a hand on Dwight’s back and looks the man up and down. He’s seen him around town at least a couple of times—looks familiar in a vague and unspecific way.

He’s self-aware, at least. Head practically between his knees, he shouts, “My family isn’t troubled, what’s happening to me?!”

Duke’s seen what happens when he owns up to the source of the new troubles. Frankly, it seems like an unnecessary complication in an already far too complicated day. Instead, he opts for reaching out.

“Hey, hey, take it easy,” he says, in the most soothing and least patronizing tone he can muster. He raises his hands above his head and eases closer, motioning for Dwight to stay where he is. “What’s your name?”

The man doesn’t look particularly at ease. He scoots to the far edge of the table—damn near walks himself off the back of it—before stammering, “Daniel. My name’s Daniel.”

“Hi, Daniel.” Duke always used to make it a point to use people’s names—or their fake ones, depending on the crowd—during his business dealings. Makes people feel important. “My name’s Duke. I’m just looking to a solution for our little problem, same as you. But I’m gonna need you to answer some questions first. Think you can do that for me, Dan?”

Daniel nods. “What do you wanna know?”

Sighing, Duke takes a step back and gestures Daniel closer. “Can you get down off the table, please?” He asks.

Daniel casts an extremely worried look in Dwight’s direction.

“He’s tame,” Duke comments flatly. Dwight evidently does not approve of his turn of phrase, but has the sense not to raise more of a complaint than a pointed huff. Daniel steps down off the table, but he keeps his eyes locked on Dwight.

Duke tries to recapture his attention by asking, “This start today, Daniel?”

“A couple hours ago,” he stutters. “It’s getting worse. There’s so many of them—”

Duke cuts him off before he can spiral all over again. “Have any of them changed back? Anybody at all?”

Daniel looks almost offended. He gestures backwards at the table. “You think I’d be up there if I could change them back?” He snaps.

“Okay, okay,” Duke placates. “That’s fair.”

Before he can think of anything else relevant to ask, Duke hears a hiss off to his left. He turns around just in time to spot a badger—one of the animals that was crowded around Daniel, before—circling from behind Dwight. It lunges forward in a flash, digging its teeth into Dwight’s side.

Everything moves very fast, from there.

Dwight whips around with a roar, his huge paw coming down on the badger. The thing goes flying and crumples up against a mailbox a few yards away. It staggers to its feet a few seconds later. With a weak and pained snarl, it slinks off somewhere to lick its wounds.

Duke’s focus goes to Dwight. It doesn’t seem like him, lashing out like that—even given the circumstances. He reaches out to touch his shoulder.

“Squatch? You okay?”

Dwight whirls on him, snarling. He collides into Duke hard enough to send him sprawling on the pavement. He catches himself on his elbows, sucking in a pained gasp when the concrete tears through the sleeves of his shirt and into his skin.

A shadow falls over him.

He looks up to find Dwight on his hind legs, so tall he blots out the sun, staring down with a vacant, furious look in his eyes.

Oh. He really _is_ about to die.

Audrey scuttles in between them, her wings thrown out like a shield. Dwight raises a paw and Duke realizes just how long his claws are.

Nathan rams into Dwight’s side, knocking him over onto four feet again. Dwight roars, rounding on him.

And stops.

His expression changes, falling into something open and startled. He looks back and forth between them, then down at himself.

He runs.

“Dwight, wait!” Duke calls as he scrambles to his feet, but it’s too late. Dwight rounds a corner and disappears.

Duke needs the journal. They have to figure out how to fix this, _now_.

He spots Daniel cowering behind the mailbox. Brushing himself off, Duke rushes over to ask, “Hey, you got a car around here?”

The man nods, looking frantic and wide-eyed. He motions to a dark green van parked a little way down the street. “Over there.”

“Great.” Duke extends his hand, palm up. “You’re gonna give it to me.”

Remarkably, _that_ seems to be the thing to snap the man from his panic. “I’m gonna _what_?” He barks in disbelief.

Rolling his eyes, Duke flaps his hand urgently, gesturing for the keys. “I’ll give it back!” He promises. “Listen, do you wanna be cat food or not? I can fix this, give me your keys.”

After an infuriatingly long hesitation, he drops his keys into Duke’s hand.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Duke chimes, his voice clipped and acerbic. “Now hunker down somewhere with a door that locks before your fan club comes back.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” the man peeps. Before he can run off, Duke bends down and scoops up Gloria.

“Think you can keep an eye on this guy for me?” He asks. She ruffles her quills and squeaks an affirmative. “Good,” he says. He passes her to Daniel, who looks horrified. “She’s in charge.”

Daniel retreats into the coffee shop with Gloria in tow.

It’s only when he opens the back door of the van for Nathan and Audrey that Duke realizes his hands are shaking.

* * *

Nathan’s hooves are absolutely wrecking his floor. After the third time telling Nathan to stop pacing and sit down, Duke writes it off as a lost cause and focuses on the issue at hand. He spends a good fifteen minutes skimming pages. He finds plenty of animal related troubles—a livestock killing trouble, some kind of magic rabies trouble, one that could bring them back from the dead. The one he needs turns out to be pressed between two stuck-together, ink stained pages.

“Billingsley family trouble,” he says, “Journal says it got taken out in 1848.”

Duke’s rarely had any reason to search this far back in the journal. Whichever ancestor’s responsible had terrible handwriting and a piss poor grasp of archival work, that’s for damn sure.

Audrey honks. Standing right at his feet, she cranes her neck up to peer at the page herself. He angles it down for her. After a moment, she lets out a flat sounding bugle.

“Yeah, I know,” Duke sighs, bringing the book closer to the light. He cracks a smile. “Those no good Crockers, am I right?”

With a squawk, Audrey latches onto his pant leg and yanks on it. He retreats backwards into the corner of the booth, both feet up on the cushion with him. “Alright, easy, I get it!” He says. “I’ll cool it with the self-deprecating humor.”

Nathan blows a little puff of air through his nose. Gesturing to him, Duke adds, “See? He thought it was funny.”

Unhelpfully, the only thing the journal had written under “Maud Billingsley – February 23, 1848” was the word “animals”. Enough to imply they might be dealing with the same trouble, but not exactly the solution they were looking for. After flipping through the subsequent pages, though, Duke starts to find longer, more detailed entries tucked away in between antique and crumbling newspaper clippings.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, sitting forward and motioning the other two closer. Nathan peeks over the table, his ears flattening back against his head as he stretches forward for a better look.

“This says Billingsley,” Duke explains. He points to a scribbled word in a damn near inscrutable script. “Old great-great-great-whatever grandpop sure wasn’t a man of many words.” He skims the woefully short paragraph, doubling back a few times to make sure he’d understood the handwriting correctly. “He calls it a fairy tale trouble.”

Duke sinks back in the seat, casting a confused look at the forest creatures occupying his galley. Tapping his fingers against the table he muses, “Fairy tale how? Because it turns people into animals? Seems… poetic for a Crocker, don’t you think?”

Duke’s spent plenty of time combing over these pages. They’re a record—some eras more detailed than others. They’re a log of dangerous troubles. But most of the time they read more like an old timey excel sheet than anything.

Propping his chin in his hand, he raspberries out a dejected sigh. “Tell you what, I’m sure as hell no white knight.”

Audrey pecks at his ankle just on principle.

“I’m just saying,” he urges, holding up his hands in surrender. “This doesn’t exactly look like any fairy tale I’ve ever seen. No princess. No evil witch. I mean unless you count Dan, but he’s a pretty boring evil witch. No panache. Just a bunch of—”

Recognition dawns all at once and Duke honestly wishes it wouldn’t.

Dropping his head into his hands he lets out an agitated groan. “I’m gonna have to _Princess and the Frog_ this shit, aren’t I?”

Audrey trumpets with laughter, pacing a circle around the inside of the cabin. Nathan looks considerably less thrilled. Duke wasn’t aware that deer could furrow their brows quite so seriously.

In a rush of wings and feathers, Audrey puts herself on top of his kitchen table.

“I take it you’re volunteering,” he says, now face-to-face with her. She bats her eyes at him in a way that _has_ to be purposeful and he startles into a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Shaking his head, he takes a breath.

“Oh god, you don’t think it has to be on the mouth, right?” He blurts in a sudden panic. Duke has seen the terrifying, toothy beak Audrey’s got going on right now and he doesn’t want anything to with that. “Okay. Okay, I’m just gonna, uh, start with—not your mouth. And if it doesn’t work… we’ll, uh, regroup from there.”

Squawking a soft, offended sound, Audrey tucks in her wings and settles on the table. She holds very still when he cradles her head in both hands.

Duke thinks if he were to be measured against the princes in fairy tales, he’d come up wanting. Still, he digs up all the feelings for Audrey that he buried over the last few months and tries to focus it into the place where his lips touch her forehead.

The cabin echoes with a loud, atmospheric pop. When he opens his eyes, Audrey sits cross-legged on top his kitchen table, wearing a dazed expression. She looks down at her hands, flexing them experimentally.

“I—huh,” Duke starts, leaning back in his seat to look at her. “You’re back in your clothes.”

Audrey barks a small chuckle. “Yeah, don’t sound so disappointed,” she snorts.

He breaks into a bright, surprised laugh. “I’m not, I’m not!” He throws up his hands in surrender. “I just thought it was weird!”

Audrey looks a little ruffled. Her hair stands up wilder than he’s ever seen it, forming a sort of bedraggled little halo around her face. She looks pale and a not insignificant layer of feathers blankets the table and benches around her.

She levers herself off the table but winds up having to brace against it—as though still getting the hang of her legs. He reaches out to steady her arm and she leans into his touch with a tired looking smile.

“Do you—feel okay?” He asks.

She chuckles. “Just another day in Haven.”

The moment’s interrupted by Nathan shoving his nose into Duke’s face. Apparently, the mortifying ordeal of getting kissed by Duke Crocker is outweighed by the allure of being human again.

“Yes, yes, I didn’t forget you,” Duke promises with only the thinnest echo of irritation. He turns sideways in the booth seat to face Nathan (a decision he instantly regrets when Nathan brings down one of his hooves on his foot). He holds Nathan with one hand under the chin and the other behind the head to keep him still.

Duke’s worn his feelings for Nathan on his sleeve for years. He’s called them by different names, denied how deep they ran, but in the end it’s always been the same. He closes his eyes and holds onto that and presses a kiss just above his nose.

Another pop.

“Oh, that’s _weird_ ,” Audrey exclaims. “It was like I couldn’t look directly at him.”

Duke opens his eyes to find Nathan knelt on the floor, ruffled and human-shaped again.

“I guess I won’t ask how _you_ feel,” Duke jokes dryly. It earns him a sharp glare and a twitch of Nathan’s mouth that he’d _swear_ is a smile.

“Can you not be a dick for like ten seconds?” Nathan asks. The question doesn’t come out nearly as caustic as it could have.

Duke helps him to his feet. “I just Prince Charming-ed the both of you,” he points out, purposefully smug. “I don’t even get a thank you?”

Nathan rolls his eyes, but he manages to sound only slightly put upon when he says, “Thank you, Duke.”

Pushing past them, Duke heads for the door. “Much as I’d love to stay and, uh,” he claps his hands together, “unpack this, I need to find Dwight.”

“We should go with you. In case he’s—” She doesn’t finish the thought, but a worried expression creases her brows.

“No,” Duke decides, shaking his head. “You guys need to start rounding up animals. I can handle Sasquatch.”

Nathan steps forward, catching him by the arm. “He could hurt you,” he says.

“He won’t,” Duke says. Nathan holds his gaze, apparently unconvinced. Sighing, Duke adds, “I’ll be careful. I’ll text you when I find him.” After a brief hesitation, Nathan gives his arm a squeeze and steps back.

“See you soon,” Nathan says. “Come back in one piece.”

* * *

Duke finds Dwight in his own backyard, pawing at the back door. The screen door lays crumpled and slashed to ribbons a few yards away, torn off its hinges. From this distance, Duke would put Dwight’s demeanor closer to confused than angry, but he isn’t sure how drastically his feelings on that are bound to change once Dwight’s focus shifts to _him_ instead of the door he’s mauling.

Duke has an inkling that his skin won’t put up nearly as much of a fight as the siding on Dwight’s house.

“Squatch? Buddy?” Duke approaches slow and careful, his hands raised in the air. He’s pretty sure he’s about to die a gruesome—dare he say, _grizzly_ —death, but maybe there’s enough of Dwight still in there that he’ll at least hesitate before putting a bunch of teeth shaped holes in him. Dwight’s head whips around. His eyes look dark and empty. For a second, Duke isn’t sure he’s looking at Dwight Hendrickson at all.

And then something changes, softens. Dwight’s shoulders drop and his eyes clear and he presses his ears flat against his head. He makes a sound like a whine, shuffling backwards a few steps until he butts up against the wall of his porch.

“Dwight? Hey,” Duke coos, reaching out a hand the same way you would with—well, with an animal. “Hey, big guy. Look, I can fix this, okay? But I just need you to trust me. I’m not gonna hurt you. And I’d, uh—I’d really appreciate it if maybe you didn’t hurt me.”

Dwight drops his head low to the ground. He peers up at Duke with an expression that looks pained, bewildered. Duke can’t really imagine what’s going on in his head or how it feels to be yanked back and forth between the bear and the man. By the looks of him, Duke’s glad he’ll never have to find out.

Duke sinks carefully to his knees in front of Dwight, cradling his head in his hands. He’s struck again by the sheer size of him. It would be shockingly easy for Dwight to kill him. All it would take is a snap of his teeth or a swipe of one of those paws. But Dwight bumps his nose gently against Duke’s chest and closes his eyes and holds still.

Duke cards his fingers through his fur without thinking. “I gotcha, Squatch,” he murmurs.

Duke doesn’t have to think when he tips forward to press a kiss between Dwight’s eyes. His feelings are there, at the surface, fresh and technicolor and present.

He finds himself struck again with the peculiar feeling of unfocus, his eyes not quite able to settle on the shape in front of him for a moment. There’s the loud, atmospheric popping sensation and then—after a few blinks to clear his vision—Dwight’s himself again: curled over on hands and knees with his forehead resting against Duke’s chest.

Duke doesn’t really think about how his hands settle in Dwight’s hair and at the nape of his neck. He runs his thumb through the short hairs there.

“Thought we lost you there for a second,” he puffs on a weak laugh.

Dwight returns the chuckle, taking just a moment to press his forehead harder against Duke’s collar. His voice comes out a little hoarse when he says, “For a second there, you almost did.”

Duke doesn’t realize his hands are shaking until he tries to let go. He watches them tremble in the open air before settling them again on Dwight’s back. “Thanks for, uh, you know. Not tearing me in half.”

“It _was_ pretty tempting,” Dwight jokes breathlessly.

Dwight looks nearly as unsteady as Duke feels. He hangs his head, shoulders flexing like his elbows might give out underneath him any second. Gentling a hand at the center of Dwight’s chest, Duke helps ease him upright into a sitting position. Side by side in the grass, neither one of them makes any move to get to their feet.

“If we don’t head back soon, Audrey’s gonna think you ate me.”

“Oh, so she isn’t—?” Dwight flaps his hands in the suggestion of wings.

Ducking a smile, he says, “Well, she wasn’t when I left.”

“Nathan?” Dwight asks.

“Antler-free.”

Dwight props his elbows on his knees and stares up at his back porch. “Damn,” he sighs, shaking his head. He shoots Duke a wry grin. “You couldn’t have showed up _before_ I wrecked the place?”

Duke grins right back. “I don’t know,” he teases, “I kind of like it. Horror movie chic.”

* * *

“You know you have to try it on somebody else,” Audrey points out, crossing her arms. She seems entirely more amused by the idea than he thinks she has any right to be.

“Why,” Duke asks, “would it work on anybody else? I’m not—” He stumbles to a stop when he realizes just how close he was to giving away something dangerous. Gritting his teeth, he corrects, “I’m not—close to _everyone_ in town, you know.”

Audrey shrugs. “You’re the only thing that’s worked, so far.”

“And,” Nathan cuts in, looking awful smug for Duke’s liking, “If we don’t figure it out soon, we’re gonna have a lotta feral animals to deal with.”

Duke casts Dwight an openly desperate look only to be met with that same shit-eating grin that Nathan’s wearing. “They’ve got a point,” Dwight drawls.

“I hate all of you,” Duke grumbles as he storms through the doors of the café where he left Daniel. “Fine, but I’m starting with Gloria.”

“Watch out for the quills!” Audrey calls after him.

* * *

Unfortunately, it works. There’s no _reason_ for it to work, once he’s outside of his social circle. Frankly, there was never any reason for it to work at all, but at least he could invent some amount of logic to it when it was people he _liked_.

Duke finds himself sat miserably in the center of downtown while the newly re-humanized Haven PD helps herd a line of animals to him. In some cases, the process is as simple as watching an entirely too-human monitor lizard slither it’s way up to him and present its head to be kissed. In other cases, where the trouble has already started driving townsfolk feral, it takes three police officers and the fastest kiss of his life to avoid getting mauled.

Today really, really isn’t his day.

Rafferty nudges a Bernese mountain dog at him, and it trots amicably over to take a seat at his feet. It looks up at him, drawing the little brown dots of its eyebrows together in a distinctly thoughtful way.

“Yeah, I don’t like this plan either, buddy, believe me,” Duke mutters.

He lifts the dog up under the armpits and presses a perfunctory kiss to its head and waits. And waits.

And waits.

Nothing happens.

“Oh my god, you’re just a dog,” Duke drones.

This _would_ happen.

Duke becomes suddenly aware of the familiar jingling sound that his brain had, unhelpfully, glossed right over in the dog’s initial approach.

“Rebecca, it has a collar on!”

She muffles a laugh in her hand and giggles, “Sorry, honest mistake,” which he absolutely doesn’t believe. Turning his attention back to the dog, he finds it panting happily up at him, wagging its tail hard enough to smack against his shins.

Duke watches it skeptically before slumping his shoulders and setting it back down on four feet. Scratching its ears, he sighs, “Honestly, this is the best interaction I’ve had all day.”

* * *

The town officially back on two legs, Duke heads to the Gull for a drink. He still needs to leave. He’s still going to. First thing in the morning, maybe. For now, he plans on getting royally shitfaced before anything else has a chance to go wrong.

A familiar face settles in beside him at the bar.

Duke smiles into his glass of whiskey. “You look pretty good for a man who spent the day on all fours,” Duke hums, shameless about the tease of an innuendo that slips into his tone.

Dwight huffs a laugh against the lip of his beer. “Amazing what a hot shower will do.”

“Lucky you,” Duke chuckles, “I haven’t even gone home, yet.”

Dwight knocks his bottle against Duke’s glass. “Bet you had whiskey at home,” he points out.

“Eh,” Duke hums noncommittally. “What’s the point in drinking free if you don’t take advantage of it?” He doesn’t mention that he’s here to say goodbye to the place. He doesn’t need Dwight trying to talk him out of it.

“Guess there’s not much point in reading into the whole true love’s kiss thing, huh?” Dwight jokes, his voice warm and honeyed. It makes Duke’s heart pick up the pace just a little, in his chest. “Seeing how you true-love’s-kissed half the town.”

Duke bubbles a laugh and drops his head into his hands. “Don’t remind me.”

Dwight bumps their shoulders together in a way not unreminiscent of his time as the bear—although Duke doesn’t take a tumble, this time.

“Should I?” Dwight asks. “Read into it?” He poses the question innocently enough, but when Duke meets his gaze, he finds he can’t look away.

Besides the whiskey in his glass, Duke’s already a couple beers in. Not drunk—not even tipsy—but warm and loose and just foolish enough to feel hopeful. His gaze drops to Dwight’s mouth before he remembers himself. He wonders if the smile that flickers across Dwight’s face has anything to do with that.

Glancing down at his drink with a quiet laugh, Duke teases, “Pretty bold to flirt with a man the same day you tried to kill him.” It lacks his usual charm. He shouldn’t lean into this. He ought to get the hell out of this town before he makes things any worse.

Dwight nods, like he understands the things Duke hasn’t even said. His shoulders go almost imperceptibly tight and the affable flirtation disappears in an instant.

“You’re still leaving,” Dwight says.

Duke hates the way it seems to suck all the joy from the room. He curls forward around his glass, elbows on the counter. “If I had gone into the void like I was supposed to, none of this would have happened.”

“You’re right,” Dwight says, flat and pragmatic and blunt in a way Duke isn’t expecting.

He tries not to look hurt. Glancing first at Dwight and then away, he murmurs, “Yeah. So—it’s better for everyone if I just… get out while the getting’s good.”

Taking a sip of his beer, Dwight keeps calm and level when he says, “You already went off, Duke. Ship’s sailed. Leaving now won’t take those new troubles back.”

Duke knows that. Shame bubbles up his throat. “I hurt a lot of people,” he says.

“You did,” Dwight agrees, but it’s a simple statement, not a damnation. “What happens next is on you. You can leave. Wash your hands of this town, tell yourself you did it for the right reasons. Or you can stay. Help put this place back together and maybe make a real difference.”

Getting to his feet, Dwight tips back the last of his beer. “Think about it,” he says. He shrugs his jacket on. “You figure it out? You know where to find me.”

Duke almost lets him go. He listens to the front door swing closed behind him and he doesn’t even turn around to look.

And then he’s out of his seat, chasing Dwight into the parking lot like some lovelorn fool. Like Dwight could possibly have the answers to a place as upside down as Haven itself.

Dwight either doesn’t hear him step outside or purposefully doesn’t slow down. He’s halfway across the deck when Duke calls after him, “What if I make everything worse?” It’s a careful balancing act, what he’s doing. The question, if Dwight pries any deeper at all, fractals out into a hell of a lot more than just the new troubles.

Slowly, Dwight turns to face him. He settles his weight on his hip and tucks his hands into his jacket pockets. The few yards between them feels more like a mile.

“What if you make it better?” He counters, casual and confident as if anything in Haven has ever been that simple.

Sometimes, Duke thinks he makes the wrong choices on purpose. Consequences sting less when you can convince yourself you deserve them. Hatred hangs better on the shoulders when you make yourself earn it. He and Nathan have been playing those same scripts for years: talking themselves out of something softer because it’s easier to schedule the date and time of your own heartbreak than to wait for it.

He could do that, here.

He could push back.

He could run.

Dwight wouldn’t even hate him for it, the bastard.

He barrels forward, instead. He steps forward until he’s sharing Dwight’s space, hands finding the lapels of his leather jacket. Dwight sucks in a gasp so quiet, Duke barely hears it. But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch.

“Read into it,” Duke says, right before he bridges the gap between them.

He can’t remember the last time he had to tip _up_ into a kiss. It sends a strange thrill down his spine. Dwight’s hands settle on his waist, but don’t drag him closer. There’s something _gentlemanly_ about it—something thoughtful and polite and maddeningly chaste. Duke loves it as much as he hates it. He’s used to being handled like a live grenade, but Dwight doesn’t rush this.

His beard prickles Duke’s lips and he can’t help smiling against his mouth when he winds his arms around Dwight’s neck and presses closer.

“Hell of a first kiss,” Dwight rumbles on a laugh, pushing their foreheads together.

“Hell of a first date,” Duke corrects. He mirrors Dwight’s grin.

Dwight bumps their noses together, teasing the idea of another kiss only to drift away right as Duke starts to lean into it. It’s a good trick—one that makes Duke’s heart feel like it’s skipped a step going down stairs.

“Is it weird if I kind of miss the fur?” Dwight jokes.

Duke peals with laughter. “Don’t even talk to me about weird,” he says, “I’ve seen enough weird today to get me through this whole week, at least.”

“It’s gonna get weirder,” Dwight says; it’s still upbeat, but something more serious brews just underneath the surface. Duke knows when he’s being sized up. “You really in it for the long haul?” He asks. His hands tighten on Duke’s waist. “You sure?”

Part of Duke still thinks he should leave. He isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to silence that voice in his head: the one that wants to run, that wants to put this town in the rearview and never look back.

Duke has to take a step back, put some distance between them, or he won’t find the guts to say what he needs to. He lets his hands linger on Dwight’s arms before dropping them to his side.

“You were right,” he says, voice aimed at the ground. “What you said about making a difference.”

Dwight’s posture relaxes from taut to uncertain. He crosses his arms and watches. Duke feels utterly transparent, but—

Well, it isn’t entirely a bad feeling. Not really.

“I don’t really think I’m the right guy to fix this,” he chuckles weakly. “But damn if I’m not gonna try.”

He still hasn’t quite brought himself to meet Dwight’s eyes when suddenly familiar, calloused hands frame his face and drag him forward into another kiss. Frantic wouldn’t be the right word for it—Dwight’s much too self-controlled for that—but it’s more focused, more intense. Duke all but gasps when Dwight pulls back again.

Dwight ducks a bashful smile. “Good answer,” he murmurs, shuffling back and clearing his throat.

Rocking back on his heels, Duke bites down on a self-conscious chuckle before tipping his head in the direction of the Gull. “C’mon, Sasquatch. Lemme buy you a drink.”

Lighting up with a crooked grin, Dwight teases, “Not sure ‘Sasquatch’ is all that accurate, considering.”

Duke raises his eyebrows. “What, you want me to call you Baloo?”

Dwight shoves him gently before throwing an arm around his shoulders. They laugh all the way back into the Gull.


End file.
